This from my friend Julie
A lesson on how consultants can make a difference in an organization.
Last week, we took some friends to a new restaurant, Steve’s Place, and noticed that the waiter who took our order carried a spoon in his shirt pocket.
It seemed a little strange. When the bus-boy brought our water and utensils, I observed that he also had a spoon in his shirt pocket. Then I looked around and saw that all the staff had spoons in their pockets.
When the waiter came back to serve our soup I inquired, “Why the spoon?”
“Well,” he explained, “the restaurant’s owner hired PWC Consulting to revamp all of our processes. After several months of analysis, they concluded that the spoon was the most frequently dropped utensil. It represents a drop frequency of approximately 3 spoons per table per hour. If our personnel are better prepared, we can reduce the number of trips back to the kitchen and save 15 man-hours per shift.”
As luck would have it, I dropped my spoon and he replaced it with his spare.
“I’ll get another spoon next time I go to the kitchen instead of making an extra trip to get it right now.”
I was impressed.
I also noticed that there was a string hanging out of the waiter’s fly. Looking around, I saw that all of the waiters had the same string hanging from their flies. So, before he walked off, I asked the waiter, “Excuse me, but can you tell me why you have that string right there?”
“Oh, certainly!” Then he lowered his voice. “Not everyone is so observant. That consulting firm I mentioned also learned that we can save time in the restroom. By tying this string to the tip of our “you-know-what”, we can pull it out without touching it and eliminate the need to wash our hands, reducing the time spent in the restroom by 76.39%.
I asked quietly, “After you get it out, how do you put it back?”
“Well,” he whispered, “I don’t know about the others, but I use the spoon.”
A priest had the weight of the world on his shoulders and was showing the effects. The church sent him to a psychiatrist, who ordered him to take a week off. So the priest left his religious paraphernalia behind him and went to a neighboring city. He got himself a nice room and went to the hotel bar to relax with a couple stiff drinks.
A waitress in a short skirt and low-cut uniform came over and asked, “What’ll it be, Father?”
The priest felt to see if he was still wearing his collar by mistake, but he had none on.
“How did you know I’m a priest?” he asked.
The waitress said, “I’m Sister Mary Margaret. We go to the same psychiatrist!”
The wife left a note on the fridge:
“It’s not working, I can’t take it anymore! Gone to stay with my mother.”
I opened the fridge, the light came on, the beer was cold.
I wonder what the hell she is talking about?